Heron Guard
by terrapin01
Summary: The story of Nine Flint Burning Dragon, a Heron Guard initiated after the fall of Soulblighter. The fic I am currently working on.
1. Journal, March 15

_March 15, Muirthemne_

_It was nigh upon 34 years ago that Alric stumbled out of the fires of Tharsis with the remnants of the 7th Legion. I'd been on my way to the front lines at that very moment, helping to clear the slopes of the wandering dead, when the mountain began to flare up.I despaired only for a moment, until I realized the slow boil could not be the destruction that Soulblighter wished wrought upon our lands. My patrol gave a shout and we redoubled our efforts, from then on the dead would stay down._

_I stood there with my company as Alric returned to the seat of the Cath Bruig empire. Dressed in a bloodless uniform and quiver full of arrows, I watched. The joy as he passed through the remnants of the city is indescribable. The deserted city was filled by the pilgrimage of the displaced, ecstatic at the triumphant return of the Last Avatara. As the emperor came through the gates with those who led the assault on Tharsis, flowers rained down; I know not where they found them in the dead land._

_Our efforts were still required in the months following the war. Mindless undead still wandered the plains, under orders from deceased masters. Even relegated to the task of confronting the dead after the war, morale remained high. Our homelands were no longer under threat and the dead were no longer the hordes we faced prior. During these battles I met Two Crawling Boar. It was he who informed the Heron Guard would be filling out their ranks._

_That night I set my bow aside and picked up a sword. It wouldn't be that year, or even the next, but I focused myself on becoming a swordsman worthy of the Heron Guard. One of the Nothmern, Bramtyr Shirt of Scars took to be my tutor. While previously heckling me for my choice of taking up the bow, his attitude swiftly changed as we took to sparring each night. It is he who I owe a great deal of my skill to. My time training with him is when I began writing this journal, intent on taking note of what I learned. I wonder if he's returned to Willow._

_Now I will be part of Alric's funeral procession. Nine Boar Roaring Tiger will be my fellow in the burial. Thirteen Oak Cheering Dog and Thirteen Teak Cheering Wolf will be our elders. Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle will be overseeing the ceremony. It will be an honor to stand beside them._


	2. March 15,16

Nine Flint Burning Dragon looked carefully over what he had written. His hand hovered carefully over the inkwell, careful not to spill over his pristine workspace. Deciding he'd written enough for the day, he sat patiently as the ink dried. Then it was placed on the bottom of a large stack of the parchment. Tapping the sides to align them, Burning Dragon placed them in the drawer of his small desk, pushing them to the back-left corner. Replacing the cover to the inkwell and returning it to its home at the back right, he meticulously cleaned his dip pen before returning it to the left of the desk with its charcoal brethren.

In the three decades that passed, Muirthemne began setting new marble roots into the soil. Those displaced from the devastation of the war came, aiding in its reconstruction. Farms began to sprawl southward and for the first few years, many dwarves remained, helping to restore the capital. Despite its initial barrenness, it quickly grew, with small villages sprouting up in the outskirts. As such, the citadel of the Heron Guard reformed, a fraction of its former glory, but alive and growing.

Only meant for one, or perhaps the result of a dwarf who'd forgotten the proportion of humans, in any case Burning Dragon's room was small. Square, four paces to a side, it hardly contained room for his bed, desk and armor. At the foot of his bed, directly in front of the door, sat a trunk containing his clothing, at the bottom of it, his arrows. Against the back of the room, to the left of his bed stood the then wardrobe that held his armor and bow. On the opposite side sat his desk and mounted on the wall between the two were his swords. With all of that in place, there remained space for one to walk cautiously to the side of the bed and then lay down.

As such, Burning Dragon collected his armor and swords, as well as the small bag that held the tools for their maintenance. He strode rhythmically towards the open grounds used for such occasions. His own footfalls soft on the slate tile let him hear the approach of two of his fellows chatting in the stone halls. Gesticulating wildly to One Flint Running Coyote was One Flint Lizard. Running Coyote laughed at whatever jest Lizard had just spoken before silencing himself. With a gaze of Burning Dragon's eyes, they returned to the dutiful and somber nature the Heron Guard were to represent.

Of course even as he turned a corner, he could hear their voices rise again. Nine Flint was not a position from which to reprimand others, but Burning Dragon did his utmost to maintain order. Exiting through a heavy door to the stone breezeway, he entered the field that formed a circle around the beginnings of the new citadel. As always, with the sun beginning to set, yet not time to prepare for supper, the fields were full of guards in training. In the distance he noticed Eleven Pride Star, his own teacher, but turned back to the task of caring for his equipment.

Thoroughly engrossed in his task, Burning Dragon did not react when Nine Boar Roaring Tiger approached him. Roaring Tiger sat next to him on the marble bench, facing the opposite way to give them both room. He withdrew his own swords and began polishing.  
"I take it you're preparing for tomorrow?"  
"Indeed, Roaring Tiger."  
"It's a good thing that you aren't the one to be speaking tomorrow," Roaring Tiger smirked, putting his hand to his chin as he was apt to do "You could be a little less dour. Your earnest nature is admirable, but it does set some on edge."  
"If that is the result, then so be it. I shall honor my pledge as a Heron Guard." Roaring Tiger sighed and went back to cleaning the guard of his sword. He tried thinking of something to say to Burning Dragon, but the man remained unapproachable. After polishing all the chinks in the armor he stood up and left his fellow Heron Guard.

The sun slowly sliding down in the sky, Burning Dragon proceeded cleaning in his deliberate fashion. He remained aware of the time and finished swiftly enough to return his armor to his room before evening meal was ready. Knowing when exactly he needed to leave, he set off to collect his squad. One Eagle Dog Tooth awaited him along the path to the outer ring of the citadel. They said nothing to each other and Dog Tooth took up the position a step behind and to the right of Burning Dragon. The member closest to the citadel was Two Rain Burning Reed, who likewise awaited his captain at the ready.  
"Good evening, Captain." Despite the rigors of training, Burning Reed managed to keep a soft, perpetual smile.  
"Wyrd bless thou, Two Rain Burning Reed." the captain responded with the second half of the formal greeting that was not initiated. "The evening is fine indeed."  
"Good evening, Dog Tooth." Dog Tooth just nodded with a wry smile behind Burning Dragon.

The five remaining members of the group were lumped together in a single room, with another five from Roaring Tiger's squad. As Burning Dragon entered, most of his own men were ready to snap to attention. One Flint Creeping Wind lagged behind, quickly spitting out the end of his conversation with one of Roaring Tiger's men, One Flint Puma Moon. Creeping Wind did not slack in any area of his duties, but that did not stop his captain.  
"One Flint Creeping Wind, who do you serve?"  
"He who sits in the throne of Cath Bruig."  
"We devote ourselves to The Emperor."  
"May the Wyrd guide our blades."  
"Our oath is our bond." They completed together.  
"One Flint Puma Moon, are do you take our oath as mockery?" Puma Moon flinched. He'd witnessed the reprimand so many times, he'd begun mouthing the words along with his friend.  
"My blade for The Emperor, my blood for The Emperor, my life for The Emperor."  
"Remember your position as Heron Guard." Burning Dragon left with his squad. Those who remained let out a deep breath, one clapping his hand on Puma Moon's shoulder in compassion.

The roof of the mess hall arched distantly over the heads of the warriors, a construct worthy of the Trow. It was one of the two dining areas in the center of the citadel, fitted for five hundred, but with the addition of more tables could hold one thousand each. Even with the ranks of the Heron Guard swelling over the past few decades, there were only perhaps four hundred. Even fewer were stationed in the citadel itself and fewer still attended every meal with perfect regularity. As such, the vast hall echoed with emptiness, food placed on only a few of the many tables. Burning Dragon and his squad seated themselves and began eating.

They chatted jovially over the heavy meal. To their knowledge, meals were the one event exempt from Burning Dragon's strict purview of decorum. The captain did not participate in the conversation, far to engrossed in the victuals of the evening. Instead his underlings made a point to talk about themselves, as though offering bits of themselves to their captain that would never make it through the filter of procedure. Burning Reed asked of Roaring Tiger's squad, who were superficially tidy, as they always had been. Serpent Stone idly complained of their disorganized behavior, to which Dog Tooth responded laconically 'Keep at them.'

So they went through their routine mundanities and thoughts. Burning Reed finally finished his meal, delayed by his discussion with each member. At this moment Burning Dragon announced to them the decision he would be bearing Alric's body into the Mausoleum of Clovis.  
"Congratulations captain." Burning Reed remarked in his soft tone. The rest of the company remained rather quiet. Nine Flint ranked quite highly among the Heron Guard, indeed, none initiated after the Heron Guard's reinstatement surpassed Nine. For their captain to be honored with bearing the emperor to the catacombs, was on another level.  
"Perhaps we shouldn't be so surprised. They'd be hard pressed to find a more model example of the Heron Guard than yourself." Puma Moon stated  
"Thank you for your praise. Two Rain Burning Reed shall be leading you during the procession." He stood and Burning Reed followed his action. The captain gestured as the ceremony called for. "I, Nine Flint Burning Dragon, assign Two Rain Burning Reed to watch over the 34th squad."  
"I, Two Rain Burning Reed, accept. May Wyrd guide my actions in your absence."  
"May Wyrd guide your actions in my absence." With that and a few more movements, the formalities were complete and the time for dining over.

Burning Dragon let Burning Reed lead away the squad back to their positions. Though he held no doubts as to his capability, he wished for Burning Reed to get as much time as interim commander as possible. Walking with Dog Tooth, he stepped off the path into the field. One Eagle Dog Tooth would remain with him, even should he split up from his main squad. As such the two trained with each other apart from the main group. Squaring off, a moment passed before they engaged each other.

Dog Tooth had no memory of the first time they sparred. His stoic, by the book captain closed in faster than he realized. That day he learned the Burning in Burning Dragon. Still the other members of the squad were unsure, but he would not tell them. If his captain did not wish to demonstrate it to them, that was how it would be. Over the years, he trained himself harder to compete. Burning Dragon surely noticed, their matches were no longer over in a few brief swings. Even so, a minute was his limit, never had he stood his ground longer than that brief period of time. There was a vast gulf between One Eagle Dog Tooth and Nine Flint Burning Dragon.

Dog Tooth's stamina improved vastly compared to his combat ability. Again below his captain, but once he could only last half a dozen matches of being pounded into the ground. Now they could relentlessly spar for hours, even if Burning Dragon limited that time due to his other duties. Blow after blow, Dog Tooth withstood, launching counterattacks if able. Twice his swings barely grazed his captain, who returned the punches manyfold. Were it not for the fortification of the rituals and meditations of the Heron Guard, Dog Tooth knew he would have died many times over. There was even a period when mandrake roots were necessary after many of their matches.

"Hey you two! Stop that!" And ever since Dog Tooth could remain standing after several blows, a worried bystander would come by to inspect the situation.  
"Sheath your blade. I, Nine Flint Burning Dragon, am training my subordinate One Eagle Dog Tooth. What news comes?" Burning Dragon was renown through the ranks as one who obeyed the rules precisely. Following their inquisition with an intensely formal response left most regretting their decision.  
"Two Flint Heron Flower," he fumbled "affirming, uh, a lack of disturbance, sir." A Heron, as those who interrupted them usually were. Burning Dragon nodded in affirmation to the response.  
"Two Flint Heron Flower, the usage of 'sir' is reserved for when in military operations with the Legion. Your concerns are misplaced, Wyrd bless thou." Compared to the others, this interruption recovered quickly and adequately explained his intentions. For Burning Dragon to let him go so quickly was as code to lauding someone Dog Tooth ever saw from his captain. Even so, their spars always ended when they first stopped.

Letting Two Flint Heron Flower disappear into the outer ring, Dog Tooth panted, catching his breath. Standing up, he followed his captain, who once more reverted to his mechanical motions. Burning Dragon led Dog Tooth back, and they parted ways. The halls were not silent, they rarely were. The stone reflected sound excellently compounding the sounds from all around the inner citadel, and with his hearing the droning noises never ended. The noises did not bother him and Burning Dragon fell asleep easily enough.

* * *

Even though it could not penetrate the corridor on which his room sat, Burning Dragon knew the sun was currently rising. Awake long before, he readied himself in his armor. The call for the escort would not be until after breakfast. He would be fasting, in some tome recording the practices of the Heron Guard, it used to be that those who would carry the dead were not to eat. Though currently unobserved, Burning Dragon required it of himself to follow every minutia of the guard.

As such, he made his way out of the citadel. The escort would traditionally arrive at the body with the rays of the morning sun. Leaving the shadow of the citadel his cuirass reflected the morning light around him. The gatekeepers were to let him leave without incident, but he reported his duty as required of him. The head gatekeeper responded in kind and Burning Dragon took to the streets of Muirthemne.

Like the training grounds within the citadel, an empty ring of road surrounded the monument as a whole. The path to the palace led straight and unobstructed to the west. Indeed, the walls of the palace could be seen from the gates. In its more vital days, Muirthemne stretched as far as one could see and it was being rebuilt with its former glory in mind. Where it arose organically into greatness, now city planners carefully guided it there, making sure there would be no obstructions.

Moving quickly across the flagstones, he drew the attention of the peasants that were about. Many of them were the children of veterans, told tales of the Heron Guards return to defeat Soulblighter. In full regalia, Burning Dragon's presence was exactly as they had been told as children. Gleaming spaulders and vambraces along his arms, with swords strapped to his back. The splint mail that covered his sides clinked softly as he moved through the streets. Paying no mind to the children following him, he made his way to the palace.

Two Heron Guards stood on each side of the outer gate. Burning Dragon introduced himself as proper, and was allowed entry without comment. The path to the center of the palace was paved with golden tiles. On each tile were dozens of names. When the Heron Guard failed to protect the emperor two hundred years ago, they banished themselves; taking gold tiles to hang around their necks as penance, each weighing around eight stones. When they were reinstated, they engraved the names of their fallen comrades on them. Alric then had the plates incorporated into the path to the throne room. All who walked into the heart of Muirthemne would be reminded of those who gave their lives to save the world from destruction.

When Burning Dragon walked into the antechamber, Thirteen Oak Cheering Dog and Thirteen Teak Cheering Wolf already awaited him. The elderly pair of Heron Guards grinned.  
"Why Nine Flint Burning Dragon, it would seem as though you have arrived late."  
"Indeed he has, Thirteen Teak Cheering Wolf. The Old Ways require the guard to be with the body from sunrise to sunset."  
"Yes, it couldn't be that the prodigal Nine Flint Burning Dragon misinterpreted that terribly vague passage." The young captain knew they spoke in jest, but took in the new information.  
"I apologize elders. In the future I will take heed of your advice."  
"It is of no consequence. We are just following old habits." Cheering Wolf spoke slowly "Remember this Nine Flint Burning Dragon, times change. You must not put tradition before your duty."  
"But your dedication to the Heron Guard is most admirable." Cheering Dog continued "Not all of our traditions are carried on for a reason."  
"Are there practices purposefully forgotten, elder?"  
"You are here too early to have eaten breakfast with your squad, and I know you would not ask the kitchen to bring you something. It used to be that one would not eat one week before the burial and another week after. Slowly that time decreased in practice and is disregarded as a whole now." Cheering Dog smiled knowingly "And I personally forbid you from taking part in fasting for the dead from this day on."  
"As you command , elder."

Cheering Dog and Cheering Wolf were old. Somehow, after all that they went through, the two elders began to see everything as something to smile at. More than the others that Burning Dragon saw, they seemed to have cast off formality. They chatted like the old men they were, talking about the old days of Muirthemne and the artifacts it held. The Nine began when they were already well into their service, Alric being some up and coming mage. Balmung and the Tain were created in those days. To Burning Dragon, tales of abundant magics were strange. The only magic he'd ever seen with his own eyes were healing rituals and the result of Dream of Undying.

Nine Boar Roaring Tiger arrived and the two elder Heron Guards wound their conversation down. Greeting him with the same semi-formal heckling, they commented on tales of his unruly squad. 'Strength may be our weapon, but discipline our shield.' Roaring Tiger took the criticism with grace. The four pallbearers waited until Alric's aide gave them the signal. The litter was a gilded catafalque upon which Alric's body rested. Burning Dragon and Roaring Tiger took the front, near the feet, while Cheering Dog and Cheering Wolf picked up the back end. Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle led the procession out of the palace, as the bells began to toll.

The sound of bells resounded through the entire city. The Northern spire of the palace held a line of three bells, each three times the height of a man. This would be the first time they all sounded. The noise they produced rolled like the waves on the ocean, many leagues away. Silence was the only other sound in the streets, despite the crowd. People of all ages lined the streets that the procession took, but the elderly stood at attention at the front of the crowd. Old men with scars, some wearing old uniforms from their days in the Legion.

Burning Dragon kept his head and eyes fixed ahead as they should be, but he still noticed. The generation after his stood closely behind their forefathers, but those younger still did not stand with the same reverence. Their grandparents had served in the war against the last of the fallen lords, and their parents fled from their hometowns as children, torn from their own childhoods. But now there were those being born who never tasted war, for which the dead who walked were only stories. They may have heard of the emperor's exploits, but they thought it surely must be an exaggeration. Looking to the state of the expanding Cath Bruig empire, it was impossible to conceive of such devastation. Alric ruled in a time of prosperity, his penchant for honing the military a sign of militarism and violence.

This attitude did not penetrate into the Heron Guard's citadel. Lives stretching beyond mortal, a good deal of the order were from before the fall and the rest had all known combat against Soulblighter's armies. Alric stood as their emperor, who they swore to protect, and who forged a time of prosperity from terror with Balmung. With widened perspective, they did not notice those who still lived short years change in their opinions. The Heron Guard remained static as Muirthemne grew back differently.

The four Heron Guards stopped outside the entrance to the Mausoleum of Clovis, placing the litter upon the stone bier that waited outside the granite entrance. Flanking the body, Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle stood on the dais and gave the eulogy.  
"Here we gather with Alric, the rightful emperor of the Cath Bruig empire. He prosperously guided Muirthemne from desolation under the eye of Wyrd. He stood as the Last Avatara, the member of the Nine who saw us through the Great War and Soulblighter's resurgence. His skill peerless and his leadership unrivaled. Through blade and magic, even the trow followed him into battle. After one hundred and seventy three years, he shall now finally be put to rest under the city he helped rebuild, where the Ibis crown lay hidden for a century." Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle continued at length about Alric's exploits as a military commander and a leader. He spoke of the Last Avatara as a mage skilled enough to survive in a world that finished off the rest of the Nine.

All of it had been told to Burning Dragon during his time in training, including some additional information that may have put Alric in a little poorer light. Such as the time he ran into the desert to collect some 'invincible armor' and his decision to ally with Myrdred, as successful as that had been, the Deceiver was not a alias that inspired confidence in an audience. Still the tales were true, at least in a manner of speaking, and all warranted the praise being given. The audience remained silent in their morning, once again with the veterans making their way to the front. In fact, Burning Dragon noted one who bore a marked similarity to a fellow bowman from his patrol, Gerard. The ceremony concluded, and the pallbearers once again lifted up their burden and descended down the ramp into the catacombs.

Excavated over a millennia prior Mausoleum of Clovis grew haphazardly as more space was need to inhume royalty. The discord was so great that a circle inscribed with runes for teleportation was necessary to expand it after spiraling in on itself. The atmosphere felt surprisingly similar to the citadel, as if the catacombs were the citadel in a thousand years. Stone rebounded and magnified the few noises they made. The vaulted ceilings expanded into the darkness, past the feeble light Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle carried with him. Winding through the tunnels, Burning Dragon noticed scorch marks on the walls, as well as chipped blades and arrowheads hiding in the open tombs and sconces that once held some form of illumination. These were remnants of the expedition to retrieve the Ibis crown. Supposedly during the expedition, the members saw the ghosts of myrkridia and ancient warriors of the Cath Bruig empire still fighting. Ghosts howled and attacked, before once more vanishing. One of the halls Burning Dragon and his fellows passed through contained the remnants of several suits of armor, which had spontaneously animated. Once the crown had been removed, this all ceased. The source of magic taken away, the ghosts vanished. Only the scars of the battles showed the supernatural had once been at work.

Laying Alric's body down in the center go the rectangular room, Burning Dragon gave a look around the former resting place of the Ibis crown and final resting place of emperor. An empty alcove sat to the right of the entrance, with depictions of lightning around it. If the tales told true, that pedestal held the sword Balmung and some unruly northman had taken to swinging it at the ghostly myrkridia, engaging some of its powers. The other two alcoves were empty, as they had been when the Ibis crown was retrieved. What artifacts once lay here?

As the five guards left the room, Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle turned around for his final words to the deceased emperor.  
"Farewell, Alric, Last Avatara. May your bones never be disturbed."


	3. Journal, March 16

_March 16, Muirthemne_

_I carried out my duty as pallbearer today. The stillness among the crowd felt ominous. The remorse for Alric's passing was evident, yet the younger generation did not hold the same reverence for the emperor. That which is said in his honor is passed of as storytelling. I worry for the future of Muithemne._

_On another note during the ceremony, I believe I saw Gerard in the crowd. Being with the Heron Guard has altered my perception of time. Wrinkles have transformed his face, and his back seems to have shrunk, leaving him hunched over. I can scarcely believe that time has passed so quickly. It is like the citadel is some strange artifact, preserving us from the outside._

_No, it is no artifact. There are precious few such things remaining in the world. It struck a chord with me, Fourteen Wind Moon Eagle's last words to Alric. The Last Avatara. Tales of the great war report that the Nine were not only the greatest, but the last of the mages. We Heron Guard hold only to our secrets of healing, magical theories are beyond our scope. With the end of the Great War and Soulblighter's defeat, magic seems to be seeping out of the world, as though casting Balor's head into the Great Devoid heralded its end._

_Perhaps the end of magic began even before then. Even as far back as the Callieach, ended by the Trow. The Myrkridia, banished once by Connacht during the Wind Age and now all but eliminated in our own. The Trow's own numbers have also dwindled during this war. While it could be said to be for the best, they are not alone. The fir'Bolg remain hidden and the forest giants were not seen in the last war. The Deceiver, Fallen Lord he may have been, aided us greatly, his warlocks retreating to the unknown, Balmung lies broken after Alric's clash at the base of Tharsis, the Tain shattered during the Great War, even the Head disappeared. The tomes that taught the arcane arts are lost, scattered, or burned along with the cities they were once housed in._

_This only begs to ask, how has magic remained if it is so ephemeral, so ready to slip our grasp? If man does not hold it tightly in his fist, it slips away. Maybe we are only ever struggling to relearn magic faster than we forget it, and with the death of the Last Avatara, magic is only a memory. _

_What are we to do when an enemy rediscovers magic? Aside from the Ibis Crown, there is nothing to combat it. Magic is a powerful and dangerous thing and the only thing strong enough to contain it is magic of an even greater magnitude. It is not something that the Heron Guard seek. But to preserve the Cath Bruig empire, I shall do what I must._


End file.
